The Maroon Part 57

Saying this, he lifted the pot from the fire; and after first pouring the "liquor" into a calabash, and leaving it for some moments to cool, he transferred it to the rum-bottle--long since emptied of its original contents.

Having carefully pressed in the cork, he set the bottle to one side--not in concealment, but as if intended for use at no very distant time.

Then, having gathered up his scattered pharmacopoeia, and deposited the whole collection in the cutacoo, he stepped into the door way of the hut, and, with a hand on each post, stood in an att.i.tude to listen.

It was evident he expected some visitor; and who it was to be was revealed by the muttered soliloquy in which he continued to indulge.

The slave Cynthia was to give him another _seance_.

"Time dat yella wench wa' come. Muss be nigh twelve ob de night. Maybe she hab call, an' a no hear her, fo' de noise ob dat catrack? A bess go down b'low. Like nuf a fine her da!"

As he was stepping across the threshold to put this design into execution, a cry, uttered in the shrill treble of a woman's voice--and just audible through the soughing sound of the cataract--came from the cliff above.

"Da's de wench!" muttered the myal-man, as he heard it. "A make sartin shoo she'd come. Lub lead woman troo fire an' water--lead um to de Debbil. Seed de time dat ar' yella' gal temp' dis chile. No care now.

But one Chakra ebber care 'brace in dese arms. Her he clasp only once, he content--he willen' den fo' die. Augh!"

As the Coromantee uttered the impa.s.sioned e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, he strode outward from the door, and walked with nervous and hurried step--like one urged on by the prospect of soon achieving some horrible but heartfelt purpose he had been long contemplating from a distance.

Volume Two, Chapter XXVII.

THE INVOCATION OF ACCOMPONG.

The canoe soon made its trip, and returned with Cynthia seated in the stern. As upon the occasion of her former visit, she carried a basket upon her arm filled with comestibles, and not forgetting the precious bottle of rum.

As before, she followed the myal-man to his hut--this time entering with more confidence, and seating herself unbidden upon the side of the bamboo bedstead.

Still, she was not without some feeling of fear; as testified by a slight trembling that might be observed when her eyes rested upon the freshly-filled bottle, that stood in a conspicuous place. The look which she turned upon it told that she possessed some previous information as to the nature of its contents--or perhaps she had only a suspicion.

"Da's de bottle fo' you," said the myal-man, noticing her glance, "and dis hya," continued he, drawing the other out of Cynthia's basket, "dis hya am de one fo'--"

He was about to add "me," but before he could pa.s.s the word out of his mouth, he had got the neck of the rum-bottle into it; and the "gluck-gluck" of the descending fluid was subst.i.tuted for the personal p.r.o.noun.

The usual "Whugh!" wound up the operation, clearing the Coromantee's throat; and then, by a gesture, he gave Cynthia to understand that he was ready to proceed with the more serious business of the interview.

"Dat bottle," said he, pointing to the one that contained his decoction, "am de obeah-'pell. It make Cubina lub you while dar's a tuff ob wool on de top o' 'im head. Dat long 'nuf, I reck'n; fo' when 'im go bald, you no care fo' 'im lub."

"Is that the love-spell you spoke of?" inquired the mulatta, with an ambiguous expression of countenance, in which hope appeared struggling with doubt.

"De lub-spell? No--not 'zackly dat. De lub-spell am different. _It_ am ob de nature ob an ointment. Hya! I'se got 'im in dis coco-sh.e.l.l."

As Chakra said this he raised his hand, and drew out from a cranny in the thatch about three-quarters of the sh.e.l.l of a cocoa-nut; inside which, instead of its white coagulum, appeared a carrot-coloured paste, resembling the pulp of the _sapotamammee_--for this, in reality, it was.

"Da's de lub mixture!" continued the obeah-man, in a triumphant tone; "da's for Cubina!"

"Ah! Cubina is to take that?"

"Shoo he am. He mus' take 'im. A gib it him, and den he go mad fo'

you. You he lub, an' he lub you, like two turtle dove in de 'pring time. Whugh!"

"Good Chakra--you are sure it will do Cubina no harm?"

The query proved that the jealousy of the mulatta had not yet reached the point of revenge.

"No," responded the negro; "do 'im good--do 'im good, an' nuffin else.

Now, Cynthy, gal," continued he, turning his eyes upon the bottle; "das for de ole Cussus ob Moun' Welc'm--take um--put 'im in you basket."

The woman obeyed, though her fingers trembled as she touched the bottle that contained the mysterious medicine.

"And what am I to do with it, Chakra?" she asked, irresolutely.

"Wha you do? I tole you arready wha you do. You gib to ma.s.sr--you enemy and myen."

"But what is it?"

"Why you ask daat? I tole you it am de obeah-'pell."

"Oh, Chakra! is it poison?"

"No, you fool--ef 'twa pizen, den it kill de buckra right off. It no kill 'im. It only make um sick, an' den, preehap, it make 'im die long time atterward. Daz no pizen! You 'fuse gib 'im?"

The woman appeared to hesitate, as if some sparks of a better nature were rising within her soul. If there were such sparks, only for a short while were they allowed to shine.

"You 'fuse gib 'im?" repeated the tempter, hastening to extinguish them.

"If you 'fuse, I no put de lub-spell on Cubina. Mor'n dat--I set de obeah fo' you--you youseff!"

"Oh, no--no, Chakra!" cried she, cowering before the Coromantee; "I not refuse--I give it--anything you command me."

"Dere, now--das sensible ob you, Cynthy. Now I gib you de instrukshin how fo' 'minister de 'pell. Lissen, an' 'member ebbery ting I go 'peak you."

As the hideous sorcerer said this, he sat down in front of his neophyte--fixing his eyes upon hers, as if the better to impress his words upon her memory.

"Fuss an' formoss, den, de grand buckra ob Moun' Welcome, ebbery night 'fore he go bed, hab gla.s.s ob rum punch. I know he used hab--he so 'till, eh?"

"Yes--he does," mechanically answered the mulatta.

"Berry likely--dat ere am one ob de habits neider buckra nor brack man am like break off. Ebbery night, shoo?"

"Yes--every night--one gla.s.s--sometimes two."

"Gorry! ef twa me, me hab two--not sometime, but alway--'cept when a make um tree, ha! ha! Berry well, das all right; and now, gal, who mix de punch fo' 'im? You use do dat youseff, Cynthy!"

"It is still my business. I make it for him every night."

"Good--das jess de ting. Whugh! now we know how set de 'pell ob de obeah. You see dis hya? It am de claw of de mountain crab. You see de 'cratch--dar--inside ob de machine? Well--up to dat mark it holds jess de 'zack quantum. Ebbery night you make de punch, you fill up dar out ob dis bottle. You pour in de gla.s.s--fuss de sugar an' lemon--den de water--den de rum, which am 'tronger dan de water; an' affer dat de 'pell out of dis bottle, which am de 'trongest ob dem all. You 'member all a hab tell you?"

"I shall remember it," rejoined the woman, with a firmness of voice, partly a.s.sumed--for she dreaded to show any sign of irresolution.

"Ef you no do, den de spell turn roun' an' he work 'gin youseff. When de Obi once 'gins he no 'top till he hab 'im victim. Now a go fo' 'voke de G.o.d Accompong. He come whenebba Chakra call. He make 'im 'pearance in de foam ob de catrack out yonner. Affer dat no mortal him lay not till one be promise fo' de sacrafize. You 'tay in hya--De G.o.d muss not see _no woman_--you lissen--you hear um voice."